


Quiet Symphony

by bodhirookandor



Category: Star Wars Episode VII: The Force Awakens (2015)
Genre: Finn-centric, Force-Sensitive Finn, M/M, finn deals with trauma
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-07-10
Updated: 2017-07-10
Packaged: 2018-11-30 04:48:21
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 11,159
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11456319
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/bodhirookandor/pseuds/bodhirookandor
Summary: “I don’t need a therapist.” Atria just stares at him, their non-expression conveying doubt so effectively it has Finn blushing up to his ears. Atria shakes their head, dark eyes rolling before handing him a slip with the therapist’s name on it.“I’m not going to force you,” Atria says, a quiet murmur in the otherwise silent room, “I just think you’d benefit greatly from it.” With that, the medic leaves the room, just as silent and unobtrusive as the first-time Finn had met them.





	Quiet Symphony

**Author's Note:**

> This is my very first ever proper Finn centric fic! Let me know what you think! You can talk to me @luminousbodhi on tumblr!

_The lightsaber slices his back, cuts through him like paper and Finn falls. He screams, agony electrifying his limbs and leaving him limp on the floor. Behind him Kylo grunts in pain and Finn, aware in a way he doesn’t want to be, hears the blood fall on the ground._

_Drip. Drip. Drip._

_He lies in the snow, tasting Death’s final kiss on the edge of his lips, and swallows his screams._

_Drip. Drip. Drip._

_Something rushes over to him, a ghost or maybe Death itself and Finn closes his eyes._

_He’s going to die._

_Panic slithers onto his skin but it slides off and falls to the ground beside him. He opens his eyes and stares at it, delirious and numb._

_Drip. Drip. Drip._

 

 

* * *

 

The first time he wakes up, he’s alone, shivering even though it feels as though he’s burning from the inside out. He opens his mouth in a silent scream, mind trapped between horrors that he can’t fathom. It feels as though he can’t move, cut off from the rest of his body and forced to scream out of sealed lips.

People come rushing into the room, donned in white, and all Finn can see is the armor he shed on Jakku.

More screaming.

Something shatters. Finn doesn’t register it. He just wants to leave. Isn’t that what he told Rey? That they needed to go as far as they possibly could? He’s trapped.  _He’s trapped_.

“My name is Finn. My name is  _Finn_.  _My name is Fi-_ ” A needle punctures his arm and he goes under.

 

 

* * *

 

_“Again!” Captain Phasma’s voice rings loud and clear and FN-2187 grits his teeth. He grips his staff, beads of sweat rolling down his forehead as he slowly makes his way towards Slip. He readies himself, feet spaced apart, hands at his sides, as he looks at Slip’s swaying form._

_‘Just fall,’ FN-2187 thinks, hands tightening on his staff, ‘just fall. It’s okay.’ Slip shakes his head, blood spraying around them, and charges. FN-2187’s staff swings and Slip falls. He falls and falls and falls and suddenly it’s night, screams lighting up the air as Tuanul burns around them._

_There’s blood everywhere and FN-2187 crouches beside him because he can’t,_ **_he can’t_ ** _lose him. Not like this. He cradles Slip’s head, hands shaking and pulse roaring in his ears. His hands come away slick and FN-2187 knows, even though he doesn’t want to._

 _“It’s okay, it’s okay, it’s okay.” He’s wearing his Stormtrooper armor and everything feels too restricting. He can’t breathe. He can’t breathe. He_ **_can’t breathe_ ** _. Slips raises a shaky hand and FN-2187 feels the blood coat him, sink through the armor and mark him for everyone to see._

 _He can’t breathe. He can’t breathe_.

 

 

* * *

 

He snaps to consciousness, gasping for breath that won’t come. It’s as though oxygen escapes him, remaining out of his reach and FN-2187 (my name is  _Finn_ , something in him snarls) chokes. He feels too much; terror, rage, and sadness fight inside him and Finn can’t. He  _can’t_.

“Calm down,” someone whispers to the right of him. Although they don’t exactly  _whisper_ it, more that it’s projected into him, bypassing his ears and implanting itself within his mind. It doesn’t make sense, it’s all foreign, his back  _burns_  and all he can feel is Slip’s blood staining him forever.

“I said  _calm down_ ,” that same voice says, no longer soft, but commanding, and Finn holds onto it like a lifeline, lets it pull him ashore the raging tidal wave of his emotions. He breathes, pushing his anxiety and panic to the back of his mind.

“That isn’t healthy, you know.” Finn opens his eyes and turns his head just slightly to see General Organa occupying the chair next to him. Blinking, once, twice, three times, Finn clears his throat and gratefully takes a sip of the water General Organa offers him, ignoring the way his hands shake as she guides the straw to his lips. Swallowing and clearing his throat, Finn ignores the burning in his back in favor of looking at the general in front of him.

“Rey?” He asks, and General Organa’s eyes soften just a tad. She nods her head and Finn lets out the breath he’d been holding. He wants to ask her where she is, but the question dies on his tongue, fear and shame tightening his vocal cords.

“Rey is fine; she’s on a mission with Chewie and R2D2 to find someone very important.” General Organa says, reassuring and so very different from the woman he’d been taught to be wary of. Finn doesn’t say anything for a moment, staring for what is probably too long of a time and finally, painfully, nods.

“I’m sorry,” he says and then at the general’s inquiring look says, “for Han. I knew he was important to you.” He watches as she closes her eyes and releases a quiet breath. She looks smaller in that moment, less like the general he’d heard so many stories about. The general that he and his squadron had been conditioned to be wary of.

Finn watches her gather herself and says nothing.

“It’s not your fault,” she says at last, voice soft but firm, “Han made his decisions. Just as,” she pauses and clears her throat, “just as Kylo did.” She’s quiet for moment, eyes still closed and Finn  _feels_ something. Feels it wash over him and press him into the bed. He opens his mouth but no sound comes out and Finn honestly wonders if he’s going insane.

General Organa opens her eyes and just as suddenly the feeling vanishes. Finn gasps. Her eyes flash, fire spewing from their depths and Finn  _understands_.

‘I know now,’ he thinks, staring just as hard at her as she is at him, ‘I know why they die for you.’ General Organa tilts her head and lava pools in her eyes and Finn really,  _really_  understands.

“They should be coming in soon to give you another dosage.” She says at last, before turning to look at the door. A medic comes into the room in that moment, quiet and unobtrusive. Still, something within Finn hums, quiet buzzing in the back of his mind. The medic tilts their head, large black eyes boring into his own as their skin ripples in confusion? Surprise? Finn doesn’t understand, doesn’t want to understand. He turns back to General Organa (and how he forgot she’d been there is a marvel and a half) and takes in her bemused expression.

“You really need to work on that.” She says and Finn wants to ask her what she means but his eyes close and he slips back under. The last thing he feels is the muted stirring of his own panic, the fear of going under and never resurfacing.

 

 

* * *

  

_“Hmmm, what an interesting Stormtrooper you have here.” Snoke’s voice filters in through his helmet. FN-2187 swallows down the bile, the rolling nausea that crashes against his stomach. He keeps his face blank, unsure as to why, but knowing that it is somehow important. He stands still with the rest of his squadron, head held high even though all he wants to do is fall to the floor._

_Snoke, as though sensing his fear, chuckles. The noise bounces against the wall and slides over his skin, oozing. FN-2187 grits his teeth, trying to stop the shudder that’s working its way down his spine. The man (is he even a man? A wraith? A nightmare?) feels wrong, unnatural and all FN-2187 wants to do is get as far away from him as he possibly can._

_“Yes, very interesting.” FN-2187 hears the distant scream of a child and the desperate sobs of a mother and wants to cry too._

 

 

* * *

 

The next time he wakes, it’s to the medic checking his dosage. They turn to look at him as though sensing his gaze and their skin flutters, a dizzying array of colors swirling around until it settles on white. Finn blinks, momentarily dizzy, before he refocuses.

“It’s good that you’re awake,” they say, voice a curious mix of high pitched bells and low tones, “we were worried for a minute there.” Finn nods, throat still closed. He goes for a smile, but it sits wrong on his face, cracked and misshapen. The medic stares at him for a second too long. Finn coughs.

“What’s your name?” He asks, knowing more than anyone how important a name is. The medic looks at him, skin swirling rapidly before going back to its normal white. Their mouth opens, black teeth stark against their white skin.

“It’s Atria Sa-Vin.” They say finally, black eyes staring him closely. Finn nods, a smile curling on the edge of his lips.

“I’m Finn,” he says although he’s positive they know his name already. The medic (Atria, his mind whispers) nods and holds out their hand. Finn grasps it tightly and shakes. They turn his hand over and gently caress the back of his palm before Finn snatches it back. They don’t react.

“So very interesting,” Atria whispers, skin shimmering to a dull grey before swirling back to white. “It’s amazing that the strike didn’t do as much damage. Truly, truly remarkable.” Finn keeps his face blank, refusing to let emotion show.

_My name is Finn._

“Oh?” He asks, voice a frozen tundra. Atria nods, skin swirling as their excitement grows. Finn feels nausea swirl in his stomach as they continue to speak. It’s as though they don’t see him, don’t understand that the gruesome injuries they’re listing are his own. As though Finn isn’t an actual person, but a medical marvel.

_I’m a person._

He can still feel the weight of his Stormtrooper armor.

_My name is Finn. I’m a person._

“That is all fascinating,” Finn says, emotion (disgust? Fear? Anger? Shame?) crashing in his chest, “could you tell me how much I need to heal?” Atria stares at him again, and Finn really,  _really_  wishes they would stop.

They turn away from him so abruptly that Finn flinches and then hisses as his back flares in pain. Atria begins to speak, outlaying his recovery plan, voice a curious monotone. Finn listens closely, balking at the amount of physical therapy ahead of him. Atria (who Finn doesn’t even  _know_ ) finishes describing the recovery process and leaves without much else, leaving Finn to stare in confusion.

Finn falls asleep to the quiet beeping of his monitor.

 

 

* * *

  

_They take him to the White Room. Finn doesn’t even know why. They grab him in the middle of the night, pale hands stark against his black skin, and march him to the one room Finn had sworn he’d never revisit._

_He swallows down his questions, feels his panic and fear ooze out of his skin and coat the walls. It’s dark in the White Room, but that doesn’t stop the blindingly white walls from glowing. FN-2187 knows he’s being watched, can feel several eyes on the side of his face. He doesn’t move, keeping his head down and his hands behind his back._

_FN-2187 waits for a punishment he didn’t know he needed to receive._

_Hours pass in that darkness and FN-2187 stands all the while, body shaking just a tad with exhaustion. He wants to fall to the ground but he knows what that’ll mean. Slip’s bloodied face comes into his mind and FN-2187 rejects it so roughly, he worries he may fall over._

_Another few hours pass and then the room is flooded with light. The walls, which had been glowing before, now shine so brightly they may as well resemble a star. FN-2187’s flinch is minute, barely a ripple on his face but he knows they’ve seen it._

_Shame fills his being, starting from the bottom of his feet and rises to his throat. FN-2187 should know better._

_They enter the room a minute later, masks on their faces so that the only thing FN-2187 can make out is their eyes. They don’t say words, moving around the room with familiar ease. His captain is the last one to enter, eyes looking at him with muted amusement and frustration._

_“It would seem,” Captain Phasma whispers, apathetic and unmoving, “that our previous methods have not been working. You’re proving to be quite the challenge.” She cocks his head and the others in the room move to grab him. Fear slams in his stomach, nauseatingly sweet and cold, and FN-2187 wants nothing more than to scream, to cry and plead._

_“I’ll do better,” he whispers, betraying himself._

_They grab his arm and haul him out of the room._

_“I’ll do better!” He screams, voice trembling and pulse roaring in his ears._

_“Please!”_

_A piece of the wall cracks and crumbles to the floor, but no one notices._

 

 

* * *

  

No one comes to visit him the entire time he’s in the med bay. Finn tells himself he’s okay with that, tells himself that there are other things they have to do, it’s not as though they could drop everything for one defected Stormtrooper.

It still doesn’t stop the sweeping disappointment that fills him when he wakes every morning and sees the empty chair.

He’s alone, but hasn’t always been?

Finn busies himself with his physical therapy, works as much as he can to get himself back into working order. It starts with relearning how to sit up, and Finn swallows back his pain, his frustration, when it takes him weeks to do so.

“You’re doing great,” they say, but it falls flat the longer it takes him to get better. Still, he doesn’t voice his disappointment, his frustration. He keeps it locked down, keeps it hidden in the folds of ribs. Only letting loose at night, away from prying eyes.

“Your recovery is extraordinary,” they say and Finn can’t help but compare it to when he’d been in the First Order, when any injuries would be removed within a week. Can’t help but feel his recovery has fallen short of what it should be. They tell him that it’s remarkable he’s even walking at all so soon after his injury.

He feels like a failure though; wonders why they’re wasting so much energy and  _resources_  on him. On a man that wants nothing to do with their war, wants to disappear into the ether and never resurface. He wants to be  _gone_. Doesn’t he?

No one visits him and Finn can feel the walls closing in.

 

 

* * *

  

_FN-2187 watches as one of the superior officers kicks an astromech in the face (or its face-plate, FN-2187 isn’t as well versed in astromech makeup as he’d like to be) and laugh. They’re inebriated, that much is obvious, and FN-2187, not wanting to be on the other end of their wrath, waits until they’re far away before emerging from his hiding space._

_He shouldn’t be doing this, FN-2187 knows that. He should go about his duties, work within the confines of his duty and be done with it. But still, he can’t help but scoop up the little astromech and quietly murmur small reassurances._

_“It’s going to be okay,” he whispers and he truly believes it. The astromech looks up at him and FN-2187 smiles. It’s small and brittle, but it’s a smile nonetheless. FN-2187 counts it as a win._

_“I’m FN-2187,” he introduces himself without even knowing why exactly, “what is your name?” The astromech rattles off something in binary and FN-2187 tilts his head._

_“I’m sorry, I don’t know binary.” His eyes flicker around in the hallway, checking to see if the coast is clear before he whispers, “but I would love to learn.”_

_The astromech whirls in excitement and FN-2187 feels as though he’d done the right thing for once in his life. His smile grows even wider until it overtakes his face._

 

 

* * *

 

Days bleed into one another, a quiet monotony that Finn quickly adepts to. At night, he’s plagued by nightmares, mouth open in a silent scream, tears cascading down his face. He wakes, gasping for breath that barely comes and crying for the child he’d never been. Things shatter sometimes, break and crack and Finn hurries to clean them, back screaming all the while.

He rarely sleeps after that.

The morning brings physical therapy, grueling hours where Finn re-teaches himself things he’d once known and swallows down his shame and frustration. It’s louder in the mornings, the sounds of his physical therapist voice bouncing across the walls as they instruct him through his exercises. Finn’s grunts of pain and quiet huffs of exhaustion and the strangely loud pitter pat of his sweat dripping on to the floor.

And then it’s silence.

Some days he passes out, too exhausted mentally and physically to dream. He wakes just as exhausted as before, as though the few hours he’d been unconscious had done nothing. Other days he lays and stares at the ceiling, trying and failing to calm the ever racing of his heart. He’s tense, on edge and waiting for the moment he can  _go_. Leave and never have to think about anything other than himself for the first time in a long time.

His mind flashes to Rey, her small smile and glimmering eyes. It flashes to Poe, with large grin and warm (so, so  _warm_ hands). It flashes to General Organa and her soft eyes and soothing voice and Finn feels so very guilty.

It’s the 90th day that things change.

“You are getting out of this place,” Atria says, skin rippling through a motley of colors before resettling on white. It takes Finn a second to understand what they’re saying, staring at their blank expression for a second too long. He blinks, looking down at the clothing they hand him and feels his throat close.

“Where,” he coughs and straightens just a tad, “where am I being assigned?” Atria rattles off a number and lets him know exactly where it is. Finn, for the first time he’s met them, feels gratitude. He looks down at the clothing in his hands and breathes out a quiet “thank you.”

Atria blinks, eyes wide and Finn can practically  _feel_  the surprise.

“Thank you,” he repeats, so sincere it takes him aback. Atria stares at him for a moment longer before nodding.

“Right, well then, you are to report here every morning before breakfast and then after lunch, you are to report to the base therapist.” Finn blinks and takes a step back.

“I don’t need a therapist.” Atria just stares at him, their non-expression conveying doubt so effectively it has Finn blushing up to his ears. Atria shakes their head, dark eyes rolling before handing him a slip with the therapist’s name on it.

“I’m not going to force you,” Atria says, a quiet murmur in the otherwise silent room, “I just think you’d benefit greatly from it.” With that, the medic leaves the room, just as silent and unobtrusive as the first-time Finn had met them.

Finn dresses and looks at the card in his hand. It feels warm on his palm, heavy in its judgement and warm in its cruel mockery. He balls it into a fist ready to throw it in the trash on his way out.

_“You’re such an interesting Stormtrooper,” Snoke’s voice slithers into his helmet and caresses the side of his face, leaving what feels like oily residue on his skin. FN-2187 shudders minutely, biting his tongue to withhold his disgusted gasp._

Finn puts the card in his pocket and exits the med bay for the first time since his awakening.

 

 

* * *

  

It takes him longer than it should’ve to find his room, having taken a wrong turn at least three times. He makes it though a half hour later, back aching and legs shaking slightly. He walks to the door, stopping just in front of it to look at the keypad on the side. Groaning in annoyance, Finn raises his hand and knocks, hoping against hope that someone,  _anyone_ , would be on the other side.

It’s not as though they’d just give him a  _single,_ right?

It’s on the third knock that a noise to his left catches Finn’s attention. He turns slightly, head feeling as though it weighs more than ten bantha, and stops. Eyes widening, Finn pushes off against the door, exhaustion momentarily forgotten and walks towards him.

“Poe?” He asks, a smile curling on the edge of his lips. Poe’s grins wide in return, teeth glimmering under the fluorescent lighting.

“Buddy!” Poe exclaims, hurrying over to Finn, arms outstretched as though to hug him. Finn freezes for a moment, panic flooding his system before he reminds himself that this is  _Poe_. He was in the resistance base, not with the First Order.

‘I’m okay,’ he tells himself, watching as Poe gets closer and closer to him, ‘I’m okay.’ A part of it feels like a lie but Poe is in front of him and Finn feels some of his panic wash away. Poe wraps his arms around Finn’s waist and pulls him closer. Finn, slowly releasing the breath he’d been holding, falls in to the embrace.

Holding Poe is something else. It’s like wrapping your arms on a furnace, heat flooding your veins from the feet to the top of your head. It’s like anchoring a plane, wind-swept curls gently moving with the air conditioning, as though Finn is the only thing keeping Poe in place. It’s like being swept up in a storm, emotions crashing on his insides, warm and cold in equal measure and all that’s keeping him from being washed away and falling into the sea is Poe. In his arms and he in his.

Poe pulls back a minute later and Finn feels cold. BB8 whirls in that moment, bringing attention to herself and Finn can’t help the smile that touches his lips.

“Hey BB8! How’s it going!” BB8 replies in a series of beeps and whirls too fast for Finn to catch the exact meaning, but he gets the gist.

“First of all, getting hurt wasn’t exactly my  _plan_. And second of all,” Finn rolls his eyes, feeling lighter than he had in months, “I missed you too.”

“So what’re you doing in front of my door?” Poe asks, making Finn look up from his crouched position. Finn puts his hands on his hips, lips pursed as he tries to parse

“You mean my door?” He shows the paper Atria had given him and wiggles it in front of the pilot. Poe’s eyes widen, mouth opening in shock, as he takes the paper from Finn’s hand.

“Wow I can’t believe they actually listened to me.” Poe murmurs, looking down at the paper and then grinning up at Finn. Turning to open the door, Poe chuckles softly to himself.

“What’s funny?” Finn asks, stepping up behind him. Poe turns around and shakes his head.

“Nothing it’s just,” Poe’s smile, if possible, grows even larger, small wrinkles appearing on the corning of his eyes. Finn’s breath hitches. “We’re doing this.”

“Yeah?” Finn asks, stepping even closer to the other man.

“Yeah,” Poe breathes, eyes looking deep into his own, before turning around and entering the room. “Welcome, newly acquired roommate, to Dameron Palace.” Finn walks into the room, eyes flickering around, taking in the state of the room. Plane schematics litter the table closest to what Finn assumes is Poe’s bed. BB8’s charging station to the right. Clothes are folded neatly on a chair, as though Poe had lost the energy to put them away. Small airplane figurines are scattered around the floor of Poe’s bed, each in different states of assembly. Finn tilts his head and nods.

“I like it.”

“Do you?” Poe asks and Finn can’t help but smile, still surveying the room around him.

“Why wouldn’t I? It reminds me of you.” Finn turns, looking over at Poe, only to see him staring at him, cheeks red and eyes wide. Neither of them say anything for a moment, the air between the two of them thick with  _something_. Finn moves closer, flinching back when Poe suddenly laughs.

“I-uh-forgot I have to go talk to the general….about someth-my mission. Talk later okay? Come on BB8!” Poe hurries out of the room and all Finn can do is stare after him. BB8 rolls out of the room, head swiveling between Finn’s bemused stare and Poe’s back. The astromech lets out a sigh and follows Poe, leaving Finn by himself.

Exhaustion crashes back on his shoulders in that moment and Finn, shaking off Poe’s abrupt end to their conversation, lies down on the unoccupied bed. He falls asleep a second later.

 

 

* * *

 

_He chuckles quietly, clapping his hands in delight as the astromech (F12 was his name, FN-2187 learned that on their second meeting) whirls its congratulations._

_:You are performing exceptionally, Friend-87: The smile that had been curling on FN-2187’s lips, grows. The word friend sings in his ears, soothing the conflicting emotions in his stomach. It fills him with a warmth he hadn’t known really existed._

_He has a friend. HE has a friend._

_FN-2187’s grin widens._

_He has a friend that calls him by a nickname, he’s more than just FN-2187. He’s Friend-87. A companion. Sure, this friendship may not have been what he’d been looking for. Sure, it doesn’t make his teammates look at him with anything more than derision but it’s_ **_something_ ** _and FN-2187 will never let it go._

_He pats the astromech and rises._

_“Thank you,” he says and FN-2187 isn’t sure he can convey how much he truly means it, “Thank you.”_

_F12 chirps with delight and FN-2187 laughs for what feels like the very first time._

 

 

* * *

  

He wakes to Poe’s muffled snores and the quiet beeping of BB8’s charging station. Finn sighs, wiping the tears that had streamed down his face and spends a minute staring out the window above Poe’s bed. Color slowly curls around the edge of the night sky, light purples mixing in with the dark blue. Finn rises, nervous energy coursing through him and puts on the shoes he must’ve taken off before he fell asleep and heads outside. Patting the dirt floor a couple of times with his hands, Finn sits, turning to face the slowly brightening sky.

It’s peaceful, as though the rising of the sun is slowly washing away his fears, his nightmares and trauma that haunt him at night. He inhales, holding his breath for a minute before exhaling. It’s soothing, quiet in a way that’s so very different from what he’s used to.

“Fancy seeing you out here,” General Organa’s voice calls out from behind him. Finn turns and then stands, posture straight even though his back flares with the sudden movement.

“General,” he says, voice as monotone as he can make it.

“At ease,” General Organa says and then, “please, don’t stand on my account. You’ve only just gotten out of the med bay. Sit down.” She sits, her robes pooling around her. Finn stands for a minute, confused. Didn’t this break protocol?

“Finn, please, indulge me.” She’s quiet, voice a whisper in the wind around them. Finn sits down. Neither of them speak for a moment, both opting to stare at the sky in front of them. The peaceful moment returns and Finn finds himself closing his eyes, feeling the wind sway around him, playful caresses on the side of his face.

It’s while he’s closing his eyes, lost in the moment around him that he feels it again. It starts of slow, muted and gentle and then it grows, becoming a roaring waterfall. Finn  _hears_ the crashes of water against rock,  _tastes_  the damp earth around him. It’s as though he’s untethered, floating above his own body and rising up and up and up the waterfall. It’s cold and warm at the same time, a friend that he didn’t even know he’d missed, didn’t even know he’d been supposed to. It’s so familiar, quenching a thirst before he’d even known he’d been thirsty.

“Come back down Finn, I know it feels nice and you don’t want to, but you need to come back down.” A voice says, although it’s muffled, as though it’s miles away. Finn swallows and sighs, feeling himself fall back down the waterfall and gently land in the shallow lake below. He opens his eyes to see General Organa looking at him, a mixture of worry, hope and resignation on her face.  

“How long have you been able to do that?” She asks, squinting. Finn shrugs and turns away from her.

“I don’t know. I didn’t even know I  _could_ do that.” The general nods, lips pursed and rises from her sitting positon.

“It would seem our time is cut short,” she says and Finn looks around to notice others exiting the barracks, “you need to learn to control that. If you would like, I can teach you.” She leaves then, giving Finn no chance to give her a direct answer.

Which would’ve been what exactly? He frowns, biting his lower lip and making his way back to his room to freshen up. His immediate answer would’ve been no, that he’d be fine figuring it out himself. Isn’t that what he’d always done? Isolated and alone no matter how close, physically, he’d been to other people? Finn always figured it out. Always.

He had to.

Some part of him hums, a buzzed warning in the back of his mind that hisses that he can’t do this alone. That if left to his own devices, he’d be sent adrift, lost into the abyss to never rise again.

Is that what he want?

Yes.

No.

Shaking his head, Finn opens his door, glad that it’s unlocked, and enters the room. Poe, finishing up putting on a shirt, looks over at him and beams so brightly it takes Finn aback.

“Buddy!” Poe exclaims, joy seeming to burst from that one word alone. The air around Poe seems to shimmer, turning almost yellow and orange. Finn blinks,  _feeling_  wind swirl around him almost lazily. He feels weightless in that moment, as though he’s flying without ever having left the ground. He smiles, slow and honest.

“Hey,” he whispers, and then when Poe doesn’t answer him, looking almost dazed, Finn continues, “you just get up?” Poe nods his head almost absently and then coughs, his cheeks a faint red.

“Yeah, I-uh-I just woke up! Want to head to breakfast together?” Finn almost says yes, (the joy of someone  _actually_  wanting to spend time with him making him feel even more weightless) until he remembers.

“I can’t actually. I have physical therapy.” Poe nods, the grin never slipping from his face.

“That’s cool, BB and I can join you and then the three of us can head there together!”

“You’d actually do that?” Finn didn’t mean for it sound like that. Didn’t mean for the almost desperate lilt in his voice to be there. Didn’t mean to sound so surprised, so  _happy._ He clears his throat, “Because you really don’t need to do that.”

“I told you pal, we’re doing this. All of this. We would love to come with you, I mean,” Poe chuckles and rubs the back of his neck, “if you’ll have us.”

“Yeah,” Finn breathes, looking at Poe and knowing nothing else, “yeah okay. I’d love to have you.” He coughs, feeling his cheeks grow warm. “I mean, I’d love it if you and BB8 would come.” Poe laughs, although Finn can see the redness reach his ears.

 

 

* * *

 

_“Come on, Nines!” Zeroes calls from the front of the room. Nines, sans helmet, nods and follows the other boy. The two of them walk together, a quiet comradery among them that makes FN-2187 feel both envious and terrified. Would he ever get a chance to experience something like that? He doesn’t know. The admission burns his throat._

_“It’s just us then FN-2187?” Slip asks, patting him on the back. FN-2187 almost falls over, and looks at the other boy in wonder._

_“What?” Slip rolls his eyes, red hair weighed down by sweat. He opens his mouth to say more, but Zeroes calls out._

_“You coming or what, Slip?” Slip turns around, clicking his teeth and hurrying after them. FN-2187 watches him walk away, ice replacing the blood rushing in his veins. He’s alone._

_Like he’d always be._

 

 

* * *

 

“Finn?” Poe asks, hand outstretched as though to touch him. Finn flinches so harshly, he almost falls backward. It takes him a couple of seconds to realize he’s not back with the First Order, that he’s not eleven alone in a sea of people. That he’s  _Finn_  now, that he doesn’t have to be FN-2187. Not anymore.

“Sorry,” he rasps, although he’s not exactly sure what he’s apologizing for, “I’m….sorry.” Poe looks at him, concern swirling in too brown eyes and Finn blinks, trying to get his throat to work again.

He  _feels_ the wind again,  _tastes_  sweet fruit and  _hears_ the rushing sound of a waterfall. It’s right  _there_ , a quiet reassurance that Finn almost wants to fall back into. He doesn’t though, the general’s quiet warning in the back of his mind.

“Hey Buddy, are you alright?” Poe asks and Finn nods even though he knows for a fact that he isn’t. A part of him feels lost, cast adrift and he wonders if he’ll ever get it back, if he even wants to.

Poe looks at him, the honest to god worry in his expression too much for Finn to handle. With a laugh (that sounds something akin to nails on a board to Finn’s oversensitive ears), Finn steps away and continues walking towards the medic. 

 

 

* * *

  

They get to the med bay a minute later, the silence between them almost oppressive. Sucking his teeth, Finn knocks on the door and, after the loud call for him to enter, makes his way into the room.

“Finn,” Atria greets skin swirling much like it did during their first meeting all those weeks ago, “and Poe Dameron.” Atria nods in the other man’s direction before looking back at him. Finn removes his shirt and turns so they could inspect his scar.

It curves along the center of his back, beginning at the top of his left shoulder blade and ending at his right hip. He hears Poe suck in a breath, and  _sees_  the air shimmer around him, the soothing yellows and oranges dipping to red and blue. Finn couldn’t blame the other man, the first time he’d seen his scar he’d vomited, hands shaking and mind flashing back to the hiss of a lightsaber and the  _screaming, pleas, panic, death, death, death._

He  _hears_ the hiss of a lightsaber, the loud cry of a child, the desperate cry of “Rey!” He  _feels_ the snow, the burning along his back, and  _smells_  burnt flesh-his own burnt flesh. Nausea coils in his stomach and the smile Finn flashes towards Poe is more of a grimace. Poe just stares at him, no expression on face. His eyes though, they’re filled with so much  _worry_ , so much sorrow. For him. For Finn.

The crushing weight of his anxiety slithers off his body and Finn smiles, honest this time. Poe smiles back.

“Let begin, shall we?” Atria says before they begin the hour-long process that leaves Finn more frustrated than not. They begin like they always do, cautiously going through various stretches that loosen the muscles along his back. His scar, no longer pink and pulsating with pain, burns just slightly. Finn swallows any complaints, any hint of frustration as he feels himself growing exhausted quicker than he should be.

“You’re doing well,” Atria whispers and Finn really,  _really_  hates it when they do that. Still, he says nothing, the quiet cheering of Poe and BB8 keeping him from snapping at them. He goes through the stretches with single minded focus, internally screaming at his body to get ready, that it couldn’t coast by like this. That the resistance wouldn’t be able to waste supplies on him all the time. That he needed to get his  _act together_.

Their session finishes and Atria waits for Finn to put his shirt back on before saying something.

“I’d like to have a moment with the patient alone, if you don’t mind.” It’s not a question and Poe turns to look at Finn, waiting for his decision. Finn, something warm and undeniable filling his stomach, nods. Poe nods back and rises to leave the room, BB8 rolling after him.

“Have you thought about  what I told you the other day? About talking to the therapist?” Atria asks, dark eyes searching his own. Finn purses his lips and swallows.

“I don’t need a therapist.” Atria raises their eyebrows and shakes their head.

“You need to talk to someone Finn,” Atria says, “it’s not healthy. Especially someone with your abilities.” Their voice turns somber at that, as though reliving something they’d much rather forget. Finn’s eyebrows furrow.

“What do you mean my abilities?” Atria blinks and looks at him, dark eyes wide.

“You don’t know? What, did you think all those things breaking around you whenever you were in distress were by coincidence? Finn,” Atria steps closer to him, hand outstretched. Finn flinches back, violently. For some reason the room gets hotter, lava melting the sides of the walls. Or maybe that’s his imagination. Or maybe all of this is his imagination. Or maybe-

“Finn!” Atria yells, their hand grab his wrist and Finn is  _gone_.

 

 

* * *

  

_His back in the White Room, hands shaking. He doesn’t know why he’s back here, doesn’t know what he did to make them all so angry with him but if they’d just give him a chance to apologize._

_‘Please,’ FN-2187 thinks, body trembling like a leaf, ‘please, please, please, I didn’t mean to do it. I’m defective. I didn’t mean to be. I’ll try harder. Please, please, pleasepleaseplease.’_

_They come into the room, as quiet as last time, their masks obscuring all but their eyes. His captain comes in last, silver helmet shining brightly under the fluorescent lighting._

_“Our patience has run out FN-2187. You are not responding well to our teachings, but I’m sure this will make you more,” she pauses, tilting her head. FN-2187 focuses on the shadows that writhe like demonic entities behind her. “Agreeable.” She says at last and with that the others in the room come forward._

_“Please,” he whispers, a broken sob from a child that doesn’t know any better, “please, I-I’ll do better. I’ll_ **_be_ ** _better. Please.”_

_“Oh, of course you will,” Captain Phasma says, voice turning chilly, “I will make sure of it.”_

_“Please!” He screams, thrashing and twisting in their hold. They strap him down onto a table and FN-2187 loses it._

_The world explodes._

 

 

* * *

  

“Finn!” Someone is screaming, hands cradling his face. Finn sucks in a breath, mouth opening to draw in air but he  _can’t._  He  _can’t breathe._

“Finn, buddy, please listen to me. Latch on to my voice. Follow my breathing, you can do it.” That voice, that beautifully familiar voice, it wraps around his psyche and pulls him out of his spiraling thoughts. Finn grabs on, letting it bring him ashore, letting it wrap him up in its embrace and hold him close. He follows their breathing, sucks in a deep breath and lets it out. Over time the ringing in his ears go away, the desperate, clawing need to  _get away_ , leaves and Finn opens his eyes.

The room is a mess, medical equipment knocked over, broken glass littering the floor around them. In front of him is Atria, slowly rising from their slumped position, a large gash on their forehead. Finn sucks in a deep breath and looks at Poe, fear coating every inch of his voice.

“I did this?” He  _hates_ that he sounds so broken. Hates that he wants nothing more to bolt, to get as far as he possibly can from the area.

“Yeah Buddy,” Poe whispers, that same concerned look on his face, “you did.”

Finn wants to cry.

 

 

* * *

 

Poe makes Finn wait on the bed (the only thing that had withstood Finn’s attack) and heads out to calm down the people that had gathered outside the med bay. The silence that follows his departure is deafening. Finn clasps his hands in front of him, body trembling just slightly. He doesn’t speak, doesn’t raise his head from its bowed position. He doesn’t know what to do, doesn’t even know what he  _did_.

A part of him hisses that he knows exactly what he did. Finn  _hears_  the calm roaring of the waterfall and swallows back his tears.

“I didn’t mean to push,” Atria says, breaking the silence around them. Finn raises his ahead and regards them, confused.

“What?”

“I didn’t mean to push you, I just thought,” Atria bites their lip, skin swirling from dark grey and back to white, “I thought it’d help you if you spoke to a professional about this. The Force is strong with you, too strong.” Atria whispers, flinching as they wrap the wound on their head.

“Force? What-that’s not  _me_.” That would never be him. Finn is sure of it. He thinks of Kylo Ren, with the hiss of his red lightsaber and the promise of pain in his eyes. He thinks of the lightsaber he held, how it felt on  _right_  in his hands, like an extra limb he didn’t know was missing.

Colors bleed into the wall behind Atria and Finn sucks in his teeth.

“You and I both know that’s not true.” Atria says and leaves it at that. Finn rises from his spot on the bed and moves to help the medic get the place in order. After some time, more and more people enter, cautiously tip-toeing around him and helping to set the place right again. Their stares burn the side of his face the entire time. Finn pretends he doesn’t notice.

Poe comes in some time later, raking his hand through his hair and stepping to Finn.

“General Organa wants to see you,” he says, his voice so soft it takes Finn’s breath away. Poe goes for a smile, but the concern hasn’t left his eyes, the worry outlined in the crease of his brow. Finn, overcome with emotion that he can’t name (although a part of him already knows exactly what it is), nods. They walk out together.

“Think about what I’ve said,” Atria calls out after them and Finn clenches his jaw. Poe looks over at him but doesn’t comment. Finn is grateful.  

The entire walk over is filled with stares. It’s as though every single group of people decided to ignore their respective tasks in favor of looking at him. Anxiety coils in his stomach, his familiar panic nipping at his heels, ready and waiting for him to be vulnerable.

Finn trudges on.

After what feels like hours (but in reality is probably no more than a couple of minutes) they make it to the general. She is surrounded by a dozen other personnel and Finn can feel his panic wrap around his ankles, cold and slimy. Fear settles on his shoulders and his back pulses with fire.

General Organa looks at him, takes in his expression and orders every single person out of the room. The protests are quelled under one look from her and the rising feeling of  _it_. The Force, Finn realizes. It hovers around them, like a tsunami and each and every single person hurries out, until it’s only her and Finn. He relaxes, but only minutely.

“I did tell you to keep calm didn’t I?” Amusement colors her tone, but her face remains blank and Finn flinches all the same.

“Sorry.”

“You  _really_  need to stop apologizing for things that you can’t control.”

“Sorr-” She cuts him off with a glare, but it’s playful almost, a moment of ease between the two of them. Finn wants to stay in that moment, where all his worries melt and wash away from him. It sounds beautiful. A beautiful lie.

“I know I had given you a choice earlier but I really think-”

“I would like to do it. The training. I would like to learn how to control this. I don’t want what just happened to happen again.” Finn feels his panic slide up his leg, slither around his body and whisper his own fears. He blinks back his tears.

General Organa looks at him for a long moment, dark eyes regarding his own. Finally, after a minute (an hour? A day? A millennia?), she breaks eye contact with a nod.

“You are to come to me every day after dinner.” She looks at him for another moment, eyes peering into her own. Finn  _hears_  that same waterfall, only this time it’s stronger, louder and powerful. It hits the rock in his mind’s eye with so much force, the rock crumbles. He  _smells_  damp earth,  _tastes_ bitter root and slowly pulls himself back up.

“Is that?”

“Yes.”

“Why  _me_?” He didn’t mean for it to come out like that, didn’t mean for his voice to break and his frustration and fear to be so obvious. He feels vulnerable, cut open and bleeding raw in front of a woman he barely even knows. His skin crawls, shame and self-disgust clawing in his chest.

“I don’t know,” General Organa whispers. She’s quiet, subdued, as though she knows exactly what’s going on his mind and maybe she does. And maybe she doesn’t. And maybe-

“Finn,” General Organa says, still so very quiet, “breathe.” Her hand rises and she moves to touch him but stops and drops her hand. Finn is grateful. He breathes, sucks in air like his choking and lets it go with equal force.

“So am I a Jedi?” He asks finally, both wanting to know and dreading the answer.

“No, to be a Jedi, you need to train. I can’t do that, only Luke can. You’re Force-Sensitive.” She looks him up and down and smirks, “very force-sensitive. You need to learn to control that.” Finn nods. He could do that.

With one final nod, General Organa dismisses him. Finn exits the room to find half of the personnel that had been dismissed crowding around the door. They straighten and after a moment of silence, walk into the room that Finn had left. He stares after them, equal parts confused and amused.

“Finn,” A voice breathes to his right and Finn turns around to see Poe, holding food for the two of them. Finn walks over to him and smiles, although it feels wrong on his face, cracked and misshapen. He drops it a moment later.

“Is that for me?” He asks, pointing at the sandwich in Poe’s hand. He’s not exactly hungry, but Finn knows for a fact that he shouldn’t skip any meal. He looks up at the sky, takes in the position of the sun and briefly amends his statement. He should skip any more meals.

“Well it  _is_  lunch time,” Poe says, lightening the mood around them and Finn’s smile feels a lot more real on his face.

“You’re right, it is.” Poe beams and Finn, feeling as though he could fly, grins back.

 

 

* * *

  

His days go like this: a couple of hours before sunrise, Finn wakes up, mouth closed but heart weeping as he tries to convince himself that he’s not FN-2187. That he has a name goddamnit, and it’s Finn.  _Finn_. That he’s a person, no longer a tool for the First Order. He lies on the bed, hand clasped over his mouth as tears stream steadily down his face, for an hour or two. Then, body still shaking, he makes his way outside, sucks in the slightly humid night air and lets himself go in the dark with no one to see him. He breathes in the tranquility of the night and exhales his anxiety and lingering panic.

“My name is Finn,” he whispers into the night and the wind  _coos_  in agreement.

The morning brings his physical therapy. Atria keeps it short and simple as mobility becomes increasingly simple. Poe and BB8 are always there, without fail, quietly cheering him on. It fills his heart with warmth to have them there, to know that they  _wanted_  to come, that they wanted to him, of all people, company. Some days Finn wonders if it’s all a dream.

Every afternoon, when Poe goes to mission debriefings and intelligence meetings, Finn finds himself outside the therapist’s door. He never enters, hands stuck at his sides and feet frozen in place. It feels daunting, a challenge that he cannot overcome. The paper in his pocket (which he always puts into the pocket of whatever pants he’s wearing and Finn doesn’t  _even know why_ ) feels heavy with each passing day.

He turns away every time, faint hisses of  _failure_ and  _coward_  following him. Finn never turns around.

Every evening is time spent with General Organa. The first half is with an audience, as they ask him question after question about the First Order. This part is simple, a recount of their training technique, of their ranks and battle tactics. Finn is in his helmet, the many years under Captain Phasma’s tutelage working in his favor. Over time, the questions evolve from simple recounting of First Order tactics to strategy for newer missions. He’s in his element then, able to shut his mind off from his own emotional turmoil and fully immerse himself in strategy. The hostile stares and distrustful glances slowly begin to ebb as time goes on and their missions become increasingly successful, transforming into one of respect and admiration. Finn notices.

The second half is just with him and General Organa. She tells him to close his eyes and breathe and breathe and breathe. To  _listen_  without his ears and  _hear_  what is calling out to him. The waterfall comes to focus, the sound of rushing water both terrifying and exhilarating at the same time. He feels weightless, floating higher and higher up the waterfall,  _smelling_  the damp earth and  _feeling_  the wind tickle his face.

He’s suspended in that moment, above his own body while still feeling it around him. He  _feels_  so much,  _hears_  so much and Finn doesn’t know if he wants it to end.

“That’s enough,” General Organa says, a moment later, quietly guiding him back down. The feeling with him stays even after he opens his eyes, although it muted, a quiet buzzing in the back of his head. Finn asks if that’s normal. General Organa nods.

“You’ll grow to be more and more attune to it as you practice. The whole point is to make sure you’re not consumed.” They spend the rest of the time together talking. About everything and anything. It’d been awkward at first, halting. Finn, unsure of how to act. Over time though, he takes cues from General Organa (“call me Leia, Finn” she says, “you can call me Leia here,” Finn settles for ma’am. General Organa remains fondly exasperated) and becomes more comfortable.

It’s on the 30th day of his new arrangement that things change.

 

 

* * *

 

_“I have given your request the thought it deserves,” Captain Phasma tells the striking miners, voice monotone. FN-2187 tries not to focus on how dismissive she sounds, tries not to focus on the obvious hope in the eyes of the people in front of him, tries not to focus on anything. He doesn’t feel like he’s in his body, trapped within the confines of his body as Captain Phasma turns to them. It’s slow, deliberate, meant to raise the tension._

_“Kill them.” For a wild moment, FN-2187 wonders if he’s heard her correctly, as no one else in the room moves. The walls turn a sickly red and FN-2187 can practically taste the fear and despair in the people in front of him. It takes him three tries to look at them._

_He owes them that much._

_One of them juts their chin out, eyes blazing fire, defiant and proud. Another whimpers, causing the one next to them to burst into sobs. The last of the four stares straight at him, their eyes accusing._

_Slip fires, Zeroes and Nines right after him. FN-2187 can’t raise his blaster, staring straight at the last person._

  _‘I’m sorry,’ he thinks, as Slip lets out another shot._

_‘I’m sorry,’ he wants to cry, ‘I’m sorry.’_

_Something within him breaks, staring at their cooling body. And FN-2187 isn’t sure he deserves it._

 

 

* * *

  

Finn wakes to someone calling his name, to hands cradling his face and tears streaming down his face. He wakes to sobs, broken, ugly sobs, that tear through him and leave him ripped up and ravaged on the bed. His fingers shake as he keeps  _seeing_ them. Seeing their accusing eyes,  _smelling_ the blood that splattered across the room as the blasters hit their bodies. They’d been innocent. They died. He let them die.

“I’m sorry,” he sobs, swirling down the edge of the abyss and wondering if he should ever be allowed to resurface, “I’m sorry.”

Poe (that’s who’s holding him, Poe), hushes him hands on his cheeks. He breathes loudly, trying to get Finn to copy him. It’s on the third try that it works, Finn gasping for air that finally enters his lungs.

“I’m sorry,” Finn whispers again, hiccupping. Shame and humiliation curdle in his stomach and he ducks his head down.

“What? No, come on Finn. Look at me,” Poe tilts Finn’s chin up and smiles, although it’s wobbly, “don’t worry about it.” He holds Finn close and Finn melts into the embrace, presses his face against the other man’s chest and lets out a soft sigh. He falls asleep to Poe’s quiet humming and the sound of his heartbeat.

The next afternoon, Finn bids Poe farewell and stands in front of the therapist’s office. Raising a hand, he knocks on the door.

 

* * *

 

 

_They’re taught, from an early age, that all Stormtroopers are expendable. That there’s no need to waste supplies if a Stormtrooper is defective. FN-2187 had been slotted for termination once. He’d almost felt the painful prick of a needle in his arm and the quiet assurance that this was it for him. He’d almost been there._

 

 

* * *

  

_They watch him more often now, hands behind their backs, eyes scrutinizing him. FN-2187 shows them he’s the model soldier, ignores the voice in the back of his mind that hisses that_ **_this is wrong_ ** _, and does everything and anything they ask him to do. He’s the perfect soldier. The best of the best. But it’s at the cost of who he thought he’d been._

 _His dead eyes stare back at him in the mirror_.

 

 

* * *

  

His afternoons with the therapist (Na’im the man had introduced himself on the first day) slot into his schedule seamlessly. The first couple of meetings are awkward (at least for Finn, Na’im seems to be perfectly content to spend two hours sitting in silence), Finn having no idea what to say and not wanting to actually talk.

This changes on the fifth day. He’d woken to his room trashed, BB8 strapped to the ceiling and Poe holding onto him for dear life. He’d had a nightmare (a  _memory?_ ) that he could barely remember. But it left him shaking and sobbing in Poe’s arms, too terrified to fall asleep. Poe held him the entire night, fingers rubbing his back and soft lips pressing against his forehead.

They stayed that way the entire night.

 

 

* * *

  

He goes into his appointment with his therapist’s and slowly begins talking. It’s sporadic, not everything is about the First Order, sometimes he talks about General Organa, or his physical therapy (which is almost over, thank the Force) and Poe, Poe, Poe. Na’im doesn’t say anything, but his smile grows wider with every visit and Finn finds himself returning those smiles more and more. He feels lighter, more secure. The nightmares don’t go away, but they lessen in intensity, and Finn finds he can breathe easier.

Every time, as their visit winds down to a close, Na’im gives Finn something to do. The first thing had been for him to investigate the base more, become integrated with life here. That’s how Finn finds his way into training with the pathfinders, Kira Umdal, the superior officer and Kael Versio, her second in command, opening the pathfinders to him. The second time had been to eat his meals in the mess hall. It’s how Finn accidentally wandered to the pilots table, only to find out that they knew all about him.

“Oh yeah, Poe talks about you  _all_  the time,” Jess says and Finn grins.

“Really?” Jess stares at him and shakes her head, a quiet groan of “these idiots,” leaving her lips. Finn just keeps smiling.

This time though, Na’im hands him some flimsiplast and a writing utensil and tells him to draw, anything, everything, whatever comes to mind. Those had been his words. Finn stares at the flimsy in front of him, hours later, lips curled in to a frown as he contemplates what the hell he should be drawing. He’s sitting on Poe’s desk (Poe says it’s their desk but Finn’s not ready for all of that just yet), facing the window and stares out at the sky in front of him.

“Just draw what comes to you Finn, no one needs to look at it, you don’t even have to show me. Just draw.” And so, Finn does. His artwork is barely recognizable at first, misshapen and hesitant, but Finn doesn’t care. It speaks of freedom, of something that he can mark up and keep and say belongs to him. It’s his, completely and utterly his and it feels that with every drawing he makes, the more he’s learning who Finn is.

It soothes the child in him that never got to be a child.

When he starts getting better at, when his shapes start resembling actual things, Finn moves to people. People he’s met, people he’s known for a significant amount of his life. He draws Slip, in the middle of laughing, eyes shut and head thrown back.

 

 

* * *

 

_“You’re going to be okay,” FN-2187 whispers, hands shaking as he cradles Slips body in his hands. Slip raises a hand and slowly caresses FN-2187’s face plate. The blood seeps past the helmet and marks him forever._

_“No, no, nononono.”_

 

 

* * *

  

He draws Nines, eyebrow raised in humor, arms folded in front of him.

 

 

* * *

 

_“Traitor!” Nines screams, and Finn can hear the wobbly undertone. He doesn’t respond, merely ignites the lightsaber in his hand. It hisses into existence and Nines falters before charging. Finn meets him blow for blow._

_‘Just fall,’ Finn thinks, not going for the other’s openings, ‘just fall and forget about me.’ Nines just keeps rushing and Finn is the one that falls._

_He keeps his eyes open and waits for Nines finishing blow. The other man stands above him, weapon held high and Finn waits._

_“You’re a disgrace,” Nines hisses and brings his hand down._

_A single blast and Nines falls back to the floor, body limp and never to rise again. Finn can’t help the shame and sadness that licks at his wounds._

* * *

 

 

He draws Zeroes, mouth quirked up in a smirk as he looks at something off camera.

 

* * *

 

 

_“You!” Zeroes screams running towards him. Finn, the lightsaber humming at his side, shakes his head._

_“Go away Zeroes,” Finn says, hand tightening on the handle. Zeroes keeps running toward him, as though he didn’t hear, as though he didn’t care._

_The lightsaber stabs them in the chest and Finn feels Zeroes crumple. He lays him down, almost gently to the ground and keeps going._

_‘I’m sorry,’ he thinks, ‘I’m sorry.’_

 

 

* * *

  

He draws F12, and chokes down a sob.

 

 

* * *

 

_He stands, although it doesn’t feel like he’s standing there at all. It feels as though he’s floating, high above his own body and watching the events unfold with detached interest. He feels numb, as cold as the snow that falls outside._

_Captain Phasma makes him stand there and watch as techs slowly, methodically, rip apart F12 in front of his eyes. The last piece of F12 crumbles to the ground and set on fire. FN-2187 feels nothing but cold. So, so very cold._

 

 

* * *

  

Finn burns the pictures and lets his laughter turn into hysterical sobs.

 

 

* * *

 

The first person he draws of his new life is Rey. She’s smiling up at him, nose crinkled and eyes shimmering with glee. Finn feels his heart ache, wonders when he’d be able to see his friend again. He wonders if it’d be possible to feel her through the Force, to somehow let her know that he’s alright. He closes his eyes, hand over her picture, lets himself fall into the waterfall like General Organa taught him and whispers out a quiet, “Rey, it’s me, Finn. I’m alright.” He has no idea if she got it, but a bit of him feels better.

The second person he draws is Han. He’s half smiling at Chewie, hand on his waist band. It’s bittersweet, he hadn’t know the man for long but from what he’d seen, and from the stories General Organa sometimes tells him, he’d been a good man. A really,  _really_ great man who didn’t deserve to be cut down by his own son. Finn looks down at the picture and sighs. He slips it into the general’s room. And when she asks him if he gave her the picture, hand caressing Han’s face, Finn denies it, even though the two of them know he did.

Leia (because she’s  _Leia_  now, family) pulls him into a hug and Finn hugs her back just as tightly.

The third person he draws, and the person he draws the most is Poe. Sweet and beautiful Poe who smiles like it’s his last day on earth, who laughs at all of Finn’s jokes even though Finn is positive they’re not funny (he knows, he threw in a couple unfunny ones just to see), who loves and is loved by so many people. Poe, who’s able to make Finn’s heart do breakbeats without even trying. Poe.

Finn draws him a lot.

 

 

* * *

 

 

There are nights when Poe is the one shaking and gasping from a nightmare, a wail leaving his lips as he tries to breathe in air that won’t enter his lungs. Finn moves off his bed and climbs into Poe’s, holds the other man close and whispers nonsense into his ears until he calms down and begins to breathe easily. Poe’s arms are tight against him, a silent plea for Finn to stay and Finn does. Lips on the other man’s forehead, hand softly caressing his back, Finn stays.

Only when Poe falls back asleep does Finn begin listing all the things he loves about him, words whispered in the dark that he’s sure Poe would never find out about.

“I think I’m in love with you,” Finn breathes out into the quiet one night. Poe’s answer is a snore. Chuckling, Finn settles into bed and goes to sleep.

The next morning, they push their beds together, the two of them beaming.

 

 

* * *

  

The first person to find out about his drawing habits is BB8. Finn had been careless; he’d thought that Poe would be entangled in meetings all day and BB8 would have followed. He’s wrong.

BB8 tilts her dome and a quick sequence of beeps filter into the air. Finn sighs and sucks his teeth.

“Fine,” he says, “but only if you help me refine my binary.” BB8 beeps in delight and Finn laughs.

 

 

* * *

  

_FN-2187 knows many things in his life. He knows he has a mother, two, if those dreams of his mean anything. He knows he’d been taken from them when he’d been a child. He knows he’s not supposed to know this, knows he’s supposed to have undying loyalty to the First Order._

_FN-2187 knows he’s going to die for them. Even if he doesn’t want to._

_He grabs what remains of F12 (a half-burned shard of their faceplate) and hides it in the folds of his uniform. No one notices._

 

 

* * *

 

 

BB8 beeps in delight as Finn shows her the drawing he made. Finn, too caught up in softly teasing the droid, doesn’t notice when the door opens. Only the sharp inhale and the quiet “Finn,” causes him to turn around and see Poe holding a piece of flimsy.

The very same flimsy with Finn’s latest drawing of Poe on it.

Kriff.

Neither of them speak for a moment and Finn contemplates running out of the door or jumping out of the window. Whichever would make it so that he wouldn’t have to endure this in any capacity. Poe is still staring at the drawing, hands shaking and so very quiet.

“Finn,” Poe breathes, eyes slowly rising to meet Finn’s. Their shimmering, countless stars in their depths and Finn wonders if it’d be alright for him caress his cheek.

BB8 leaves, a self-satisfied hum leaving her. Neither of them notice.

“Finn,” Poe repeats, in that voice that makes Finn’s heart do back flips, “this is amazing.” He moves closer to him, stopping just in front of him. Finn slowly leans in and presses their foreheads together. Smiling so wide, his face is beginning to hurt.

“Yeah?” Finn whispers, and then, smile somehow growing even larger as Poe hums in affirmation, “I’m awesome.” And Finn, for the first time since he’d come to be a part of the First Order, believes it.

Poe kisses him, sudden but soft, loose but firm, a dichotomy that has Finn’s head spinning. Poe frames Finn’s face, holds him as though he never wants to let go. Finn’s hands slide up Poe’s back, listening to his quiet moan and tangling his fingers in the other man’s hair. They’re wrapped up in each other, pressing their truths, their beliefs, their hopes into the space between them, holding each other for a millennium wrapped up in a minute. A moment Finn had been wishing for.  

They part, but stay in their soft bubble. Poe opens his eyes and smiles at Finn, the air around him swirling between soft orange and bright yellow. Finn smiles back.

“We’re doing this?” Poe asks, thumb caressing Finn’s cheek.

“We’re doing this.” Finn replies, leaning in for another kiss.

 

 

* * *

 

_FN-2187 lies quietly in the dark. He stares up at the bunk above his and imagines he can see through it, can see past Slip’s body and past the ceiling to the sky above. He presses a hand to the top of his bunk and closes his eyes._

_FN-2187 makes a wish that night, a wish to make a friend, to find his family, but most of all a wish that someone, anyone out there would love him. That’s all FN-2187 wants. To be loved._

_He falls asleep to the mechanical whirring of the heater above them, feeling colder than he’d ever felt before._


End file.
